


hypothetically

by bs13



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, hypothetically they're getting married, kara's a drummer facing a scandal, lena's working at home depot and has too many mommy issues, no powers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 00:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14092905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bs13/pseuds/bs13
Summary: Kara is caught between being herself and being the person the public wants her to be. Enter Lena Luthor, the refreshingly blunt retail worker who doesn't even know who Kara is; this could either be the start of something wonderful, or something uniquely bizarre. (Either way, Kara's really into it.)





	hypothetically

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this idea in my head for ages...i made [a post](http://pippytmi.tumblr.com/post/161818591494/pippytmi-pippytmi-au-where-kara-is-a) about it and everything...but ultimately i tweaked it, bc the original idea for this fic was a fake dating AU and i've gone a different route w/this one.
> 
> this feels more like my old style of writing - kinda choppy, lame attempts at humor, ya name it. but if you follow me on tumblr or keep up w/my other work then you KNOW i've been struggling to write at all, so this was refreshing to do - just write without much editing, and being silly about it. i think i'm finally getting back into the groove of writing though!
> 
> i have two (2) other supercorp celebrity AUs in the works too, so, obviously i'm making the best of my semester.

The truth is that Kara is in somewhat of a bad mood.

Alex has cautioned her time and time again to refrain from looking at twitter for this exact reason, but Kara's a curious person by nature—and like anyone whose career has just been tainted by a scandal, the knee-jerk reaction is to go to Google. Now all it's taken is Cat Grant branding her a young, reckless rock star with a bad attitude and suddenly just saying her name has become the equivalent of listening to Nickelback in 2018.

Kara thinks she's entitled to some sulking. James thinks she needs to make a statement; Eliza thinks she needs to come back home; Alex thinks she needs to disappear from the public eye for a while; Winn thinks she needs to denounce any and all Nickelback comparisons on twitter.

The only solution Kara has come up with is to throw on a baseball hat and a pair of sunglasses and head to Home Depot. That, and put her phone on silent for a while.

No one's here so early in the day. And, blessedly, there are no stands chock-full of celebrity gossip magazines, which she would have been forced to confront if she went to Walmart like a normal person.

The woman at the checkout counter rings up Kara's overpriced candy bar and two cans of soda quickly, never giving her a once-over in the process. Kara thinks the sunglasses must be working wonders to keep her identity a secret (which Alex always says is the stupidest thing she's ever heard), and she wonders if it's worth it to send a gloating text to her sister.

An annoyed huff brings her out of her head. The cashier—Lena, it says on her name tag—drums her fingernails against the cash register, all chipped black nail polish and a scowl like Alex had been in high school.

“Sorry,” Lena the cashier mutters. “Give it a minute, it's slow to print receipts.”

“That's okay,” Kara says, awkwardly rocking back and forth on her heels. There's nobody else in line behind her, and she'd never admit it to Alex's face, but she _is_ tentatively antsy that any second the recognition will click and she'll be accosted by questions.

“Great. Your transaction's not going through,” Lena says, glaring at the computer as if that'll do any good. “Do you mind if we move to a different counter?”

“Not at all,” Kara says, smiling politely as she follows the disgruntled employee to the next checkout counter over.

“I'm really sorry. I swear it's just that register,” Lena says, but what she doesn't notice is that Kara has stopped dead in her tracks.

Because here's the thing: right by the entrance of the store, she sees a group of people with cameras.

They make no move to enter the store, loitering casually—as casually as they can be, anyhow—and Kara panics. She doesn't know how they found her. She doesn't even know what to _do_ , because Alex isn't here to coach her through this.

Finally realizing that Kara hasn't followed, Lena cranes her neck to look back at her. “Miss, I do need you to pay for this,” she says.

“Right, of course,” Kara says, numbly reaching for her wallet somewhere in the depths of her jeans pocket. “Listen, I...I hate to pull this card, ah, Lena? Can I call you Lena?”

She gets a blank stare in return. “No, we don't take coupons for any purchases below ten dollars.”

“I don't...that's not what I meant,” Kara says. “Um. Do you know who I am?”

For a second, Lena's bored expression falters; she seems to be really considering the question, this time with dawning horror. “Oh shit,” she says, “don't tell me we slept together.”

Kara's mouth snaps shut. Then open, again. “What?”

“Jess was right—working at Home Depot is the new gay bar tending gig. Fuck. I need a new job.”

“Hold on, I think you're confusing me with someone else,” Kara says, involuntarily flushing pink. (She blames that on the fact that she's never had to name drop herself for anything before, and not the whole sex thing). Slowly, she slips off her glasses, waiting for the recognition to finally come.

The most Lena does is become confused, brow furrowing slightly like she doesn't know how to react. “So do you _want_ to sleep with me, or something,” she says. “Because I don't really follow.”

“Don't you know who I am?” Kara says, almost sagging with the sheer force of both relief and vague disappointment.

“Should I?” The corners of Lena's mouth twist into an apologetic frown. “Are you a friend of Jess's? Sam's? ...my mother?”

“I'm actually Kara Danvers.” Kara takes off the hat for good measure, just in case the bigger picture isn't clear. “I’m sort of in a band?”

Lena's frown only deepens. “Not to be insensitive or anything, but I have no fucking clue who you are,” she says. “Wait. Is this where you drop a line about how you forgot your wallet and I should be gracious enough to let you leave with your Sprite because you're famous?”

Frustrated, Kara shoves a crumpled fifty dollar bill from her back pocket and onto the table. “No, that's not it either,” she says. “I...I could just really use some help. You know, if it's possible for you to let me through the back of the building? Maybe through an employee only door?”

Lena's gaze flickers from Kara's face to the money. “Is this a bribe?”

“It's for my Sprite,” Kara says, anxiously casting a look in direction of the entrance. One of the paparazzi seems to have handed off his camera to someone else, and is making his way inside. “You know what? Um, keep the change, thanks anyway.”

She leaves without waiting to be ringed up, abandoning her purchase on the conveyor belt and aiming for a casual jog towards the lighting section. The camera-less paparazzi is wandering in the direction of the extensive plywood collection, so maybe if she's lucky Kara can avoid being seen and then the paparazzi will all leave. Hopefully.

Just as she's pretending to be engrossed in chandeliers, she hears,

“You forgot your glasses.”

With a yelp, Kara jumps; it's certainly not her most refined moment, almost toppling over a display of ceiling fans with her.

Lena the Home Depot employee is watching her, eyebrow quirked questioningly. “So do your sunglasses work with anyone, really?” she asks, holding out Kara's disguise with one hand.

Sheepishly, Kara stuffs her glasses in her back pocket. “Sort of,” she says. “Depends on whether someone's really looking.”

“Sounds rough.” Lena is studying her, _scrutinizing_ her, and Kara feels her cheeks heat at the unabashed way Lena's eyes trace her body. “There's a door that leads out to the dumpsters from the employee break room. Would that work?”

The ensuing sweep of relief Kara feels from head to toe has to be one of the most unparalleled highlights of her life. “That would be perfect,” she says. “Thank you.”

They make their way towards the back of the store in relative silence, until:

“I don't sleep with a lot of people,” Lena says. “For the record.”

Kara hadn't been expecting that casual admission, and she almost trips on nothing. “Of course,” she says.

“No, really, it's just—these past few weeks, maybe I slept with a few women. Not that many. Two, tops. Not that _they_ were tops, necessarily. I mean they were, but, um. Feel free to let me stop anytime.”

“It's not really any of my business,” Kara says, more preoccupied with following Lena in a way that doesn't alert the other customers where she's going.

“No, I know that,” Lena says, and maybe _she's_ flushing now, the tips of her ears gone red. “But just for the record, you know, I don't think I've slept with every random blonde girl who shows up at Home Depot.”

“Okay. Do you usually tell this to everyone you meet, or—?”

“I may or may not be under the influence of too much cold medicine,” Lena says nonchalantly. She props open the employee's break room, ushering Kara in before shutting the door firmly behind them. “The door's that one. It locks once it's shut, so don't try to come back in that way.”

“Thank you,” Kara says, mildly concerned that Lena immediately starts pouring herself a cup of coffee now. “If you’re sick, why did you come to work?”

“I’m covering my friend’s shift.” Lena raises a quizzical eyebrow when Kara doesn’t immediately leave, and says, “Want a cup of coffee before you go? It’s pretty terrible.”

Kara should say no. But she feels weird about leaving now; she’s not sure if this is what an ethical dilemma feels like. “Can I...offer you a ride home?” is what she settles on. “It can’t be good to drive under the influence of, um, cold medicine.”

“I’ll manage.” The tiredness of Lena’s expression makes a lot more sense now, as does the sleepy way she blinks. “If you're really famous, I'm sure you have a lot more to worry about than me.”

“If?” Kara repeats. “You didn't Google me?”

Lena shrugs, and takes a sip out of her mug that makes her grimace. “You seemed trustworthy,” she says. “In a weird way.”

Kara’ll take it, if that means she has a reason to shrug one shoulder and lean against the wall. She fiddles with her keys, grips them tight in her palm, and knows she should leave. She really, really should.

But instead she says, “Are you sure I can’t give you a ride? I feel like I’m obligated to help you out. Human decency and all that.”

“Mm, not unless you want to explain to my boss why I’m playing hooky,” Lena says. She tilts her head almost curiously, now, and regards Kara with softened eyes. “I’m fine. Your duty as a concerned fellow human being has been met.”

“Okay.” Kara rubs at the back of her neck, feels the embarrassment creep hotly over her skin. She doesn’t have a reason to drag her feet any longer, so she stuffs her keys back into her pocket and tugs her baseball cap back on. “Bye...Lena, was it?”

“Bye, Kara Danvers,” Lena says, and that is the last image Kara gets of her: raising her mug to her lips with one hand, and giving her a halfhearted wave goodbye with the other.

.

.

.

It takes Alex—and reinforcements—to finally get Kara to stay home.

It’s not her fault she’s restless as of late. There’s been no word from Clark beyond a very cryptic “let me talk to the label alone,” and there are only so many jam sessions a musician can handle before she either 1) goes mad or 2) kills her bandmates. The solution Alex has come up with isn’t any better, but at least it keeps Kara out of the studio. 

(Unfortunately, it also leaves her at the mercy of her friends.)

“I just want to go outside and buy pizza,” Kara says. “This is unfair! You can’t hold me hostage in my own penthouse!”

“ _I_ can buy you pizza,” James says, though he won’t relinquish Kara’s wallet. “You and Winn can set up while I’m gone.”

“You don’t even know what kind to _buy_ ,” Kara sulks, and James only laughs and slings an arm around her shoulders like an asshole.

“Trust me, I do,” he says. “Sometimes it feels like your stomach is my best friend.”

Kara sticks her tongue out at him as he leaves, but he’s quick enough not to catch it. She won’t admit it aloud, but it’s kind of nice that everyone has come over. She’s spent so much time with her bandmates lately, and they’re _great_ , but they’re just her work friends. Her close friends are the only ones capable of cajoling her into having a game night once in a while.

But her friends are also unwaveringly—and annoyingly—true to their mission, and so as soon as Kara takes a seat on the couch and starts pulling up Twitter her phone is snatched out of her hands.

“None of that,” Alex says, squeezing next to her sister with a smug superiority that Kara glares at her for. “If you start drunk tweeting you’ll only make this worse.”

“I’m not even drunk.”

“Yet,” Alex corrects her, passing her a beer as Winn brings them out. “Seriously, Kara, just relax. You need a night to yourself.”

“It’s been two weeks, I’ve had lots of nights by myself,” Kara protests. “Can’t I tweet _something_? Twitter has to miss me.”

“It’s true,” Winn chimes in. “I’ve missed your daily food tweets.”

(Wordlessly, Kara holds out her fist. Winn high-fives it.)

Alex rolls her eyes. “Your twitter followers won’t die if they don’t see the sheer amount of potstickers you eat in one sitting,” she says. “Now unwind a bit, would you?”

Kara juts out her bottom lip indignantly. “I’m not wind-ed,” she says, but she gives in and takes the beer.

At least these nights are easy. Familiar. No one brings up the incident, but Kara can see the pity in the smallest of gestures. Lucy doesn’t tease; James picks up two extra containers of potstickers just for Kara; Winn refrains from trash talking during Mario Cart; Alex takes a turn at karaoke even though she’d normally need at least two shots to get there.

It makes Kara’s skin crawl even though it shouldn’t. They mean well, but they don’t _understand_.

She has to slip out halfway through charades for some air. One of the perks of having a penthouse means she gets a balcony overlooking the city; even on the days that she feels like she can’t breathe, she gets a chance to escape. It gives her a sense of perspective, to feel so alienated from the rest of the city up here.

A click of the sliding door means Alex has followed her out. “Hey,” she says. “Are you brooding?”

“I don’t brood,” Kara says, wordlessly sliding over so Alex can lean comfortably against the railing beside her. “Sorry to be such a party killer.”

“Winn’s already claimed that title, don’t worry.” But Alex is looking at her so worriedly her words do nothing to ease this simmering tension, and she asks, “Are you okay, Kara? Because it doesn’t seem like you’re okay.”

“I don’t know.” Kara wishes she could give a better answer than that. “I feel like maybe I’ve messed everything up for good.”

“No, come on,” Alex says. “You’re just going through a rough time. Young stars are always like that. Your fans’ll understand.”

“Don’t you get it, Alex? I proved them right. Everyone who has ever said that I’m a ticking time bomb waiting to go off was _right_. I’ve become every single stereotype imaginable in one night, and now...I don’t know how I can come back from that.” Kara’s vision blurs with frustrated tears, and she angrily wipes them away. “I feel like I’ve let you down.”

“You made a mistake.” Alex rests her chin atop Kara’s head, dragging her close even as Kara weakly protests—but at the same time, she doesn’t put up as much of a fight as one might expect. “And I’d never be disappointed in you for that. Don’t you remember my first time on the field? I got blindsided by an overeager player with a rock for a head. People said I was done for after that mess. And look at me now.”

“That wasn’t your fault, though,” Kara sniffles, and Alex goes quiet. Then,

“This wasn’t your fault either.”

“Alex…”

“Kara. I know you’re lying to me and I don’t get it, alright, but I won’t ask you for the details. Not until you’re ready. But don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s not the end of the world, even if it feels like it. Now are you going to let me keep spouting stuff off of a Hallmark get-well card, or are you going to come back in and drink your feelings away?”

Despite herself, Kara smiles. “As long as we switch to something stronger than beer,” she says, elbowing Alex swiftly when she gets an impressed whistle in response.

“You really _are_ brooding,” Alex says, and if there’s any sadness in that, she hides it well. “In that case, I have a wonderful whiskey bottle with your name all over it.”

“Perfect,” says Kara. She lets herself be led back in, and resolves to try harder to squish her feelings to the back of her head; if Alex starts shouldering all of Kara’s problems then she really will have something to regret.

But right now she has to give Alex the benefit of the doubt, so she pretends she’s okay. She sits on the couch and lets Lucy rest her head against her shoulder, accepting Alex’s bottle when it gets pressed into her hands. 

Kara gets tipsy enough to feel warm, as if that is the best that she can offer. Maybe it is.

.

.

.

_...Kara Danvers sits down, after making sure to shake every hand in the room. There’s no exaggeration about how nice she is, folks. When she finally gets to me, her palms are a little sweaty. It’s probably from all the contact she’s had with other people, but I make sure to ask if she’s nervous._

_She laughs. “I’ll say yes,” she says, “So you have some good options for your editing.”_

Alex has called her twice in the past hour.

Kara doesn’t answer. If she does, she knows that Alex will mention the article and ask about the interview and Kara doesn’t know if she can be a celebrity right now. She would love to just be Alex’s sister, instead. But somehow she doubts that Alex will be so quick to understand.

Someone drives by with their window down, heavy bass of a rap song loud enough to make Kara startle. She wraps her sweatshirt a little tighter around herself, wishing that she’d had the sense to bring an umbrella.

_...We finally get to the topic of her latest scandal. When I ask her if there is anything she wants to say about that, her smile falls. It takes her a moment to gather her words, while every person on the room waits on the edge of their seats._

_“I do,” she says. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior. There is nothing I can say that would make up for it and I fully acknowledge that."_

The rain has begun to come down more heavily by the time Kara gives up on finding her car. 

She ducks into the closest store just as the automatic doors are about to close, hoping that her chances of waiting out the rain might be in her favor. When she realizes where she is, a strange feeling curls at the bottom of her stomach. 

It strikes her that she might be nervous. It feels like every beginning of a gig, when she can hear the crowd chanting, when her palms are slightly slick against her sticks.

She tells herself that’s ridiculous. Entering Home Depot is no reason to be nervous. Just because this happens to be the same Home Depot she’d come to once doesn’t mean a thing. And the employee that had helped her last time—Lena, her brain unhelpfully supplies—probably won’t be here. The odds would be slim.

Emboldened by the thought, she slips on her sunglasses and blends into the rest of the shoppers. It’s more crowded than usual, like maybe everyone was itching to get out of the house on this rainy day and ended up here. Kara picks a nice spot by the paint samples to browse, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt to feign interest in something while she waits.

_I ask what she has to say about the rumor that she didn’t act alone._

_Without hesitation, she says, “No comment.”_

Someone brushes past her, and Kara immediately steps out of the way. “Sorry,” says the person, and Kara’s heart thumps hard in her chest; she _recognizes_ that voice.

“Lena?” slips out before her brain catches up with her mouth. Inwardly, Kara curses herself, because she’s not supposed to be drawing attention to herself.

“Kara....Danvers,” Lena says slowly, confusion knitting her brows together. “Wow. A part of me hoped I’d dreamed you up.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Kara can’t help but joke, shifting awkwardly in place.

Lena looks much less tired than last time, and slightly dressed-up. Her lips are an alarming red, and the color makes Kara keep dropping her gaze to wonder why it stands out so much.

“So, do you make a habit of coming to Home Depot often?” Lena asks, corners of her mouth twitching in amusement when she notices what Kara’s doing. “Or is ours just special enough?”

Kara feels her cheeks flare, caught. “No,” she says. “I mean, yes? It’s raining. I needed somewhere to wait it out, so...I figured this was as good a place as any.”

“I see.” The box in Lena’s hands starts to slip, and she hefts it back up. “Well, duty calls.”

“Can I help you with that?”

“What’s with you and trying to help me so much?” Lena laughs, and it stuns Kara how pretty it is; her entire face seems to become alit with fond exasperation, crinkling at the corners of her smile. “I’ll be fine.”

Kara casually shrugs her shoulders. “Would you believe I’m bored?” she says. “Or just very concerned about your well-being in those heels?”

“I’ll take bored.” Lena bites her bottom lip, then shakes her head. “Okay. Fine. But only because you look weird standing here by yourself.”

“Is it the glasses?”

“It’s everything,” Lena says, forking over the heavy box. “You’re wearing at least three different shades of black, you know.”

“I’m mourning my career,” Kara says, following as Lena beckons her forward with a finger. “Have you googled me yet?”

“I was tempted,” Lena says, surprisingly fast in heels that high. “But I was fine leaving you as a mystery—you know, since I basically made a complete fool out of myself in front of you.” She props open a door in the back that leads to a warehouse, giving Kara a quizzical once-over. “Why are you here again, anyway?”

“I like walking around here,” Kara says. “This part of town is always the quietest. I used to live in an apartment building two blocks from here, and I guess—I guess I like remembering my old life.”

“Wow. That sounds like every dramatic celebrity trying to add depth to their character in a cheesy Lifetime movie,” Lena says. “Well done.” She pats a stack of nearby boxes and says, “Just leave it here. Jess can sort through this shit on her own time.”

“Call me a stereotype,” Kara says, unable to refrain from smiling, “but I do like to think that celebrities are real people.”

“I haven’t met any celebrity besides you, so I guess you have me there,” Lena says. She takes a seat on one of the lower boxes, and stares at Kara expectantly until she follows suit. “Do you need some more help sneaking out of here, or something?”

“No.” Kara takes her glasses off so she has something to fiddle with, and admits, “I just gave a pretty big interview. I thought walking might help me clear my head.”

“An interview,” Lena repeats. “Alright. Good or bad?”

“Neither,” Kara says. “Well. My agent thinks it’s good. I think it could’ve gone better.” She feels embarrassed to have brought it up; Lena, a literal stranger, won’t care what’s happening in her life. “Sorry. I know you don’t care.”

“Common human decency means I do,” Lena counters. “It’s not every day I get a celebrity spilling her deepest darkest secrets to me. And to think, I’m only an hour into my shift.”

“I wouldn’t call it my darkest secret,” Kara says, and she feels herself smile again. “You know something? You’re really easy to talk to.”

“Not good enough, if you’re not giving me your darkest secret,” Lena says. “Come on, Kara Danvers. Give me something juicy enough to sell to TMZ so I can quit this job.” But she’s smiling too, softer than when she laughs.

“I’m an open book, sadly,” Kara says. That isn’t really true, and it suddenly gives her pause. “Sometimes.”

“Well, we all have our faults,” Lena says. “Mine is showing up at a date before this shift. Worst idea I’ve ever had.”

“Because you had to cut it short?” Kara guesses.

“Because now I have to walk in these on inventory day,” Lena says, sticking out her leg as if Kara hasn’t already noticed her heels. “I don’t know why I bothered. Blind dates never end up well.”

“They look nice, at least,” Kara tries, and _that_ makes Lena raise an eyebrow at her.

“I guess I can rest easy now. A _celebrity_ thinks I look nice,” she says.

Kara rolls her eyes, taking great care to be playful about it. “Will you stop calling me that?” she says. “I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

“Not making fun,” Lena says. “But maybe _poking_ fun. It’s weird that I can say I’ve met a celebrity and told her about the women I’ve slept with and it wasn’t a dream. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone, of course.”

“It’s just as weird to admit I know a lot about the sex life of a Home Depot employee, so I’d say we’re even.”

Lena tilts her head as if to say _touché_. And then she says, “Kara Danvers, I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

.

.

.

Kara is finally allowed to play again. 

She is about as jittery as always, but maybe even more than usual. The venue is packed and Kara knows they’re not there for _her_ , but it makes her uneasy, wondering if they’re going to care that she’s back. Diana is overjoyed, and Clark’s said that it’s good to have her back, but Kara doesn’t know how true that all is. It makes her want to call Alex. Alex would know what to say.

Kara goes as far as loading up her contacts, but can’t do it. Alex is out of the country for a match anyway, and the chances of her answering her phone are slim. But there’s another number just below hers, one that would be much easier to call…

“Hello?”

Dammit, she’s answered. “Hey,” Kara gets out. “Is this a bad time?”

“I’m not working, if that’s what you’re asking.” Lena’s voice is always so dry when she says something witty, and it makes Kara smile without trying. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you would call.”

“You gave me your number and promised you wouldn’t proposition me for sex. How could I resist?”

“Ha ha,” Lena deadpans. It sounds like there’s music playing somewhere on her end, but far away. “Did you call me for some more fantastic life advice?”

“I missed your sarcasm,” Kara says, which technically isn’t a lie. She still isn’t sure why she called, either.

“Thank you. My mother tells me it’s my worst quality.”

Kara bites back a laugh. Lena’s always morbidly funny without trying to be; something about it is refreshing. “I’m about to perform in front of hundreds of people,” she says. “And I wondered what you were up to.”

“Something just as thrilling: taxes,” Lena says. “I’m also hosting a party downstairs, which is less exciting than you might think.”

“You’re the only person I know who would sneak away from their own party to do taxes, I think,” Kara says. “Hasn’t anyone noticed?”

“They’re drunk by now, it’s okay.” The faint sound of typing is heard. “Do you need a pep talk for your performance?”

“No, I’ll be okay. I guess I just....needed a link to reality, first,” Kara says. “Does that make sense?”

“Half of what you say makes no sense to me, but I get it,” Lena says. “I’m curious about the fact that you’re in a band. Are you a singer?”

“You _can_ just google me,” Kara says. “I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“Now that would just be too easy, wouldn’t it? Maybe I want to work for it, figure you out for myself before I find out how I’m supposed to feel about you.”

“And how do you feel about me?” Kara questions, only half-serious. “What’s the official verdict?”

“I’m not sure yet. But the odds could be in your favor if you sing me something,” Lena says. “What’s your favorite song?”

“From the band, or in general?”

“In general,” Lena says. “Mine is the theme song from Jaws.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a joke or not,” Kara says. “I can’t sing you that.”

“You don’t do acapella?”

“Never tried.”

“Now that’s just lazy, Kara Danvers,” Lena says. She has a habit of stressing Kara’s name, likely teasing her about it, but Kara doesn’t mind; she likes how Lena says her last name. _Dan-vers_ , always drawn out, almost sultry.

Kara glances at the clock. She still has an hour before they’re set to relieve the opening band, and Clark is suspiciously absent from the dressing room. Decision made, she sets her phone on speaker and snags her acoustic guitar.

“How about this,” she says. “I can play you a classic.”

She’s barely three seconds into strumming _wonderwall_ when Lena speaks: “I’m going to hang up the phone.”

Kara grins even if Lena can’t see it. “ _I said maybe_ ,” she sings, soft enough that the chords are almost enough to drown her out. She hasn’t played her guitar in ages; she brings it with her to every gig regardless, though, for sentimental reasons.

“I’m serious. My finger is hovering over the button right now.”

Kara sets the guitar down. “Not too bad, right?” she says.

“You do have a pretty nice voice,” Lena admits. “I’m starting to believe you really might be a celebrity...even if you lose points for the song.”

“It’s a classic!”

“It’s the song every awful beginner plays,” Lena says. “My brother used to play guitar too. God, he was _terrible_.”

“You have a brother?” Kara hugs her guitar to her chest as she gravitates to the couch, comfortably falling against the pillows.

“Unfortunately.” The usual dryness of Lena’s tone vanishes almost completely, like this is a touchy subject. “I don’t really speak to him anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Kara knows that heaviness in her voice; regret is something she’s well-versed in. “I have a sister. I used to be able to tell her anything, but lately...I don’t know. We’re drifting.”

“Is she famous, too?”

“She’s a soccer player,” Kara says. “So sort of.”

“A soccer player? I’m clearly talking to the wrong famous Danvers. What’s _her_ number?” Just like that, the wit’s back, and it makes Kara both relieved and disappointed.

“She’s not as famous as _me_ ,” she jokes. “You won’t get anything for TMZ out of her.”

“Damn, that means I’m stuck working for the rest of my life.” Lena’s voice gets marginally more serious. “Tell me more about your sister.”

“She’s not single, if that’s what you’re after.”

“You’re an ass. I’m trying to make you feel better,” Lena says, but there’s no real bite there. It sounds like she’s smiling, and Kara wishes she could see it.

(As quickly as she thinks that, her stomach gets a weird fluttery feeling. Kara immediately ignores it.)

“You are making me feel better,” Kara promises quietly. “I feel like I can just be Kara with you. Is that weird?”

“We’re past weird. I think at this rate we’re going to get married.”

“I’d be a great wife, so you’d be lucking out,” Kara says, pressing her smile into her hand. She’s aware that she must look like an absolute lovestruck idiot, hugging her guitar and beaming at her phone; if Winn were present he’d never let her live it down.

“I don’t know,” Lena says, “you’re not a soccer player.”

This time Kara doesn’t try to keep her laugh at bay; it would be enough to make her throw her head back, if she were standing. “Tell me about your dream wife, then,” she says. She glances at the clock again, and figures she’ll allow herself a little more time. “I’m curious.”

“I’m telling TMZ you’re nosey,” Lena says. “According to my Tinder, my ideal woman is someone thoughtful—caring, and who can make me feel like every day together is an adventure.”

“And off Tinder?”

“Oh, she has to be absolutely _jacked_ ,” Lena hums, and Kara wonders if it’s possible to sprain her face from laughing so much.

.

.

.

Life decides, as always, to throw her a curveball.

“Rhea’s suing me?” Kara exclaims. “You can’t be serious. James. Tell me you’re kidding.”

James’s apologetic shoulder slump is answer enough. “I’m sorry, Kara,” he says. “She’s claiming that you caused a major setback with productions. Apparently they needed renovations done for two weeks straight.”

Kara grits her teeth. “That’s...I wasn’t in my right mind. She can’t sue me for that.”

“Unless you come clean about that I can’t help you with that, Kara,” James tells her gently. “Listen, I can talk to your cousin—”

“I don’t need you to coddle me, James,” Kara snaps, but the fight drains out of her when James just looks at her sadly. “And this isn’t your fault. I don’t—I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry.”

“Kara. Just let me talk this over with Clark,” James says. “We’ll think of something together, and run it by you by the evening. I promise, I’m just trying to help.”

“You and your fake law degree are really annoying,” Kara mumbles, and James smiles, relieved.

“Just wait until I actually finish school,” he says, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I’ll be unstoppable.”

When he’s gone, Kara rolls over and stares up at the ceiling. It’s plastered with a giant picture of Lucy’s face, because she’d been drunk enough to demand it a couple weeks ago and Kara hasn’t had the heart to take it down. It’s kind of creepy now that she looks at it, really.

Eventually she gets up off the floor, because the creepiness gets to her. She throws on a jacket that looks clean and calls the number she should’ve deleted ages ago, making her way out into the hallway and only barely remembering to lock her door behind her.

If Mike Matthews is anything, he’s predictable; he answers.

They end up at a coffee shop that he owns, and he clears it out so they can have the entire place to themselves. Only two employees remain, and they’re only allowed to stick around to make Mike and Kara mediocre, overpriced hipster coffee.

Mike clears his throat to break the uncomfortable silence. “So how’ve you been?” he tries.

Kara doesn’t have the patience for pleasantries. “Your mother’s suing me,” she says flatly.

Mike winces. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “I heard.”

“And you didn’t try to convince her it was a bad idea?” Kara always feels annoyed when she talks to Mike, but right now her annoyance is quickly morphing into anger. “Or say _anything_?”

“I tried, Kara, honest,” Mike says. It’s always hard to tell when Mike is genuine, and this time is no different; he drops his gaze like he’s ashamed, as if that counts for anything. “But I can’t tell her the truth. It’ll ruin everything.”

Kara has heard this spiel time and time again and it never fails to drive her _mad_. But she quells the urge to throttle him, and sips at her disgusting avocado latte instead.

“I already took responsibility for my issues,” Kara says, setting her mug down and resolving not to pick it up again. “And I’ve taken your side of the blame too. But either get your mom to stop suing me or I’ll come clean about your role in this.”

“Are you seriously threatening me?” Mike says. “Kara, c’mon. We’re friends!”

That might be the worst thing she’s heard all day, but Kara doesn’t tell him that. “Then fix this,” she says, instead, hoping a more civil approach will do the trick. “If I’m really your friend you’ll do it.”

She leaves him gaping hopelessly after her, feeling like she’s made no progress at all. When she walks to her car she’s bombarded by paparazzi, all of them clamoring to grill her about Rhea’s all-too-public plan to sue; she ignores them, and sits in her car as they shout at her through the glass of her window.

Kara would call if it weren’t for all the noise around her, so she settles for texting.

 _any chance you’ve googled me yet?_ she asks Lena glumly.

She gets a reply almost immediately. _no_ , it reads. _did i miss my chance with tmz?_

 _yup. sorry :/_ , Kara sends. She wonders if she’s pressing her luck—and maybe she is—but what she asks next is, _can i come to your house?_

This time it takes a bit longer for Lena to reply. But ultimately she’s sent her address, and a following text that says, _if you’re trying to murder me you’ll have to get in line. the old lady next door is pretty ruthless._

Kara feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest. _i can take her_ , she texts as she starts up the car. And, as an afterthought, _thanks. i owe you one._

 _just get me that secret for tmz ;)_ comes the reply, and it makes Kara much happier than it should.

Lena lives in a very nice apartment building for someone who works at Home Depot. Kara’s car is taken by a valet, and a doorman even greets her as she walks in; it would feel like her own building, if it weren’t for the less showy decor.

Kara is able to get past the lobby and elevator without incident, but as she gets to Lena’s floor she makes the mistake of taking off her sunglasses. A kid waiting for her parents to finish locking up their apartment door does a double-take to see Kara wandering the halls, and in an awed—but unsure—voice she asks,

“Are you...Kara Danvers?”

Kara casts an uneasy glance at the kid’s embarrassed parents. “Yeah,” she says. “Is it the hat? It hides my identity pretty well.”

The kid laughs, definitely more awed by now. She can’t be more than twelve. “Do you live here?” she says, eyes wide like she’s hoping for an affirmative.

“No, I’m just visiting a friend,” Kara says, and just saying that aloud makes her feel warm. Lena really _is_ her friend. She gets a picture with the girl before her parents usher her away, and then she finally finds Lena’s apartment, residual joy lingering from the encounter.

Lena opens the door, and that joy increases tenfold. Lena is wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, hair thrown up into a sloppy bun that tendrils of her dark hair are falling out of. “Hi,” she says, uncharacteristically shy as she hugs her arms around herself. “I hope you didn’t get too lost.”

“No, but I did meet some of your neighbors. They’re very nice,” Kara says, placing her hands in her pants pockets because she isn’t sure what to do. This feels different than any other time they’ve spent together; while she and Lena call and text pretty frequently, they haven’t seen each other face-to-face since Kara’s second accidental excursion to Home Depot.

“To you,” Lena wisecracks, and then they’re back to normal. “Oh, shit—come in.”

Kara realizes that she’s had a subconscious idea of what Lena’s apartment would look like in the back of her head, but it doesn’t hit her until she sees that it’s nothing like what she expected. She had envisioned it to be quirky, maybe with soft colored walls and abstract art. But it’s monochromatic, and messy in a way that still looks pretty organized without trying.

“You have a really nice place,” Kara notes.

“It’s my brother’s. I just crash here while he’s away.” Lena wanders into the kitchen, and Kara slowly follows. “Do you want coffee?”

“Sure.” It seems like Lena wants some way to keep herself busy, and Kara understands. “Where does your brother go?”

“Um.” Lena’s hands falter, shaking enough to make the two mugs she’s holding clatter. “Prison?”

“Oh.” Kara doesn’t quite know what to say to that. “So I guess you stay here for, er, a while.”

“You could say that.” Lena gives her a crooked smile, hesitant in a way Kara has never seen her like before. “You’re not the only one who gets a bad rep if you’re googled.”

“Who says I have a bad rep?” Kara says. “I could be America’s darling for all you know.”

Lena seems to relax at the familiarity of their banter, and only returns, “I’ve met you, Kara Danvers. You’re definitely not a clean-cut type of girl.”

“And this coming from the girl who said she’d marry me someday. It’s devastating.” Kara takes a seat on one of the tall stools by Lena’s center island, absolutely thrilled to see that Lena has a tacky fake fruit display in the center. “So I have a...completely hypothetical question.”

“Mm, I’ll bet. Hit me.”

The coffee machine starts up, and Lena leans against the counter across from Kara without bothering to sit down. She looks expectant enough that Kara knows she can’t back out now.

“I don’t really know how to phrase this,” she admits. “But....what would you do, if you were stuck between helping out someone and coming clean about something that wasn’t totally your fault? Like, if everyone thinks you’re terrible for something when it wasn’t just _you_ who did the terrible thing. But you’re pretending you’re entirely to blame just to help someone out.”

“If it were me?” Lena says. “I guess I’d keep pretending I did the terrible thing. But I don’t think that’s what you want to hear, is it?”

“No, it is,” Kara says. She gets the urge to rest her cheek against the cool tile of Lena’s counter, as if every ounce of life has been drained from her. “I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing. I’m trying to help.”

“There you go again, trying to help,” Lena says. The coffee machine beeps, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. “Have you considered helping yourself once in a while?”

“You sound like my therapist,” Kara says, wrinkling her nose and feigning a shiver.

“I charge by the hour,” Lena tosses over her shoulder as she finally drags herself away to get their coffee. “I think you beat yourself up too much about this. You’re the kind of selfless person you read about in feel-good magazines, too godly for us mere mortals. Be a little selfish.”

Kara wraps her stiff fingers around her warm mug and exhales. “You’re right,” she says. “As always.”

“Go on, my ego needs it.” But Lena looks pleased, a gentle smile overtaking her lips. “So do I get a frame of context for this completely hypothetical question?”

“Seriously, you’re welcome to google me at any time.”

“We’re at the stage where we visit each other’s houses,” Lena says. “You want me to quit _now_? I haven’t had a chance to let you braid my hair while you’re drunk.”

“Plenty of time to change that,” Kara says, forever marveling at just how _easy_ her friendship with Lena is. “You know something? I’m really glad we’re friends.”

Lena clinks her mug against Kara’s. “Me too,” she says. “Even if you’re not your hot soccer player sister.”

“Wha—how would you even know she’s hot?!”

“Google images,” says Lena. “It’s a wonderful thing.”

Kara bristles, even if she doesn’t understand why this teasing makes her stomach twist oddly. “She has a girlfriend,” she says, and only realizes she sounds sulky when Lena calls her out on it.

“Don’t sulk, you baby. You’re still my favorite.”

As soon as she says that, Lena is leaving; she seems restless in her own apartment that’s really her brother’s. Even so, it allows Kara a moment to shake her head to herself. Inwardly she preens, because she’s never been called someone’s _favorite_ before. Her stomach does a strange flip-flop, too; again, she doesn’t know what that means.

She follows Lena out, abandoning her mug on the counter. Lena has settled on the couch, holding a worn acoustic guitar in her arms awkwardly. She doesn’t startle when Kara sits down beside her, even when their thighs touch.

“Is this your brother’s?” Kara says. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. He was terrible at playing.” Lena toys with a couple of the strings, not strumming hard enough to make it sound too loud. “You can play something if you want.”

“So you can put it on TMZ?”

“Of course, why else?” Lena’s gripping onto the neck hard enough that her knuckles go white, and Kara helps her relax by putting her hands over hers.

“Okay,” Kara says, smoothly pulling the guitar into her own lap. “For TMZ.” The guitar is out of tune, but something tells her Lena won’t mind. “You can’t laugh at me. I don’t really play guitar too well.”

Lena leans her head against her hand, utterly captivated by Kara as she props her elbow onto the back of the couch. “No promises,” she says.

Kara can’t bring it in herself to quip something in reply, now that she has this guitar in her hands. Muscle memory guides her fingers to where they need to be, and just like always, she has to drag the pads of her fingers against the strings to remind herself she’s here.

She plucks at the strings experimentally at first, before she immerses herself into the rhythm. This song is one of the simplest she plays, but it’s the one she holds closest to her heart, and halfway into it she can’t resist whispering a few lyrics.

“ _Take my hand. Take my whole life too_.” She makes the mistake of looking at Lena, whose eyes are wet. “ _For I can’t help...falling in love with you_.” Worried that she’s done something wrong, she ceases her playing. “Lena?”

“Sorry. You’re...you’re just really good,” Lena says, wiping at her eyes sheepishly. “This is embarrassing. It’s sort of...the anniversary. Of when Lex left.”

Kara sets the guitar aside, careful that it’s nestled among the pillows. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That must be hard.”

“Yeah, well.” Lena looks down at her hands. “I hate the guy.” The way she says it means it’s definitely not true but doesn’t want to admit it, and Kara resists the urge to do something inappropriate and hug Lena when they’re definitely not at that stage yet.

She opts to pick up the guitar again. Her music might not be enough to convey the depth of her sympathy, but Lena doesn’t seem to mind; her eyes drift shut as she leans back, head tilted up towards the ceiling, giving Kara the briefest sensation of deja vu. She looks like art, drying tear tracks on her cheeks and a peaceful expression on her face.

Kara has to look away. She doesn’t know why.

.

.

.

Cat Grant wants to _meet_ her.

“But why?” Kara asks Alex for the millionth time, as if her sister is going to have miraculously come up with an answer since she last asked thirty seconds ago. “Why now?”

“Maybe she wants to apologize for calling you a ‘reckless young star dragging out an overplayed rivalry,’” Alex suggests. “Or for retweeting that article that called you an ‘aggressively naive girl trying to break out of her good girl brand by acting out.’ That one was pretty harsh.”

Kara frowns. “I don’t have a good girl brand, do I?”

“You’re wearing a cardigan over a button-up, Kara. I think you have a teacher’s pet level brand.”

“It’s professional! Isn’t that what I’m going for?” Kara digs her thumbs into the practical slacks she’d dug out for the occasion, the most self-conscious she’s ever been. “I don’t know what I’d say to her.”

“Nothing too incriminating, I hope,” Alex says. “Just think of her as any other reporter. She wants to write about you. You can handle that.”

“Right. I can handle that.”

“Just, maybe not in pastel colors,” Alex suggests.

Kara does take Alex’s advice. Mostly about pretending Cat is any other normal interviewer, and not about the clothes. She compromises the cardigan and the slacks, but the button-up stays; Winn assures her she looks great, at least.

Cat Grant is shorter than she’d expected, but she is every bit as intimidating as everyone has cautioned Kara about. She shakes Kara’s hand firmly, and tells her quite bluntly that she has a stain on her black jeans.

“At least this isn’t a televised interview,” Kara jokes, but Cat isn’t appeased by the attempt at humor.

“Tell me something, Kara Danvers,” she says, taking a seat in an armchair that dwarfs her small frame. “I tore your image to shreds, but you agreed to this interview anyway. What kind of artist would risk that confrontation?”

(Well, she certainly dives into the heavy stuff quick.)

“The kind of artist who can take the truth,” Kara replies smoothly. “I’m not shying away from my actions, Ms. Grant.”

“You seem to be thriving. You’re drawing larger crowds, and attracting a very stable following,” Cat says. “It seems like things are working out exactly in your favor; you stir up some drama, and reap the benefits of the buzz.”

“I made a mistake,” Kara says. “I was worried my fans would hate me for it. But they’ve stuck by me and I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to call my family. As for the rise of sales, or social media followers—I would hope they have come out in support of my attempt to redeem myself.”

“You’re saying you think this spike of attention is coming from the fact that you apologized.”

“I’m saying that I hope so, yes,” Kara says. “I want my fans to know that it’s okay to make mistakes. Even if they do something they regret, they should never have to be shamed extensively for it. I welcome any scrutiny of my character because I have that duty as a role model to the young people who follow me, but I would never want them to think I’m perfect.”

“What comes next for you, Ms. Danvers?” Cat asks. The question is loaded and she knows it; Kara knows it, too, but Cat never gives her a second to breathe. “Are you going to release a record with Daxam Records? Any young star in your shoes would make public reparations as quickly as possible.”

“I’m going to make music with my band, Ms. Grant,” Kara answers. “And I’m going to continue to be myself. I think I can offer so much more that way.”

“I see.” Cat clicks the pen she hasn’t used, not once. “Then I have no further questions. Thank you for your time.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Kara says, not entirely sure if this is some elaborate test of Cat Grant’s that she has failed. But Cat shakes her hand again, and gives Kara the smallest of smiles that hints that she might be impressed. Kara practically _glows_.

James is waiting for her outside the studio, about as nervous as Kara herself had been at the beginning. “How’d it go?” he asks as they fall in step; he’s dramatic about how anxious he is, casting glances left and right like someone might be eavesdropping.

“I don’t know. Not bad, though,” Kara says thoughtfully. She scrunches her button-up sleeves even though she knows they’ll be wrinkled, a lightness to her step that makes her say, “You know something? I feel like I need a jam session.”

“Yeah?” James says, visibly brightening. “I’ll call Clark, see what he and the others are up to.”

For the first time in weeks Kara feels like herself. There’s a melody in her head and she taps it against the window on the drive home, over and over again, in case she’ll somehow forget it.

Clark is waiting outside the studio when they arrive, and he’s smiling—genuinely, which makes Kara feel a little better. “Hey,” he says. “Diana’s all plugged in, but I think Bruce is half asleep.”

He doesn’t ask about the interview, and that makes Kara relax. “Then let’s wake him up,” she says, and Clark laughs.

“It’s good to have you back,” he says, but it sounds different this time. Prouder.

Kara keeps the melody in her fingertips as she takes her place, gripping her sticks firmly as she counts them off. This beat in her head is wild, eclectic, and Diana cranks up the volume on her amp just to keep up; if anyone can match Kara’s playing, it’s Diana. Her fingers are quick, sharp, and the wails of her electric slide in between of every snare-tom-crash cymbal roll that Kara throws at her.

Clark’s bass keeps up with every thump of Kara’s bass drum, almost keeping her in check when her time gets a bit too fast. But she still lets the thrumming energy of her high transfer from her head to her hands, and plays her set with all she has; Diana keeps her on her feet, switching between different timbres. When she goes low, Kara does a roll on the snare. When she goes high, Kara keeps the bass steadier than ever.

Bruce comps even though his playing is easily drowned out, but Kara appreciates it nonetheless. This is easily one of their most intense sessions and she’s _living_ , sweat beading up on her forehead as they drag out the song. Her wrists ache, but it’s a good ache. Every vibration from her set comes like a jolt of electricity and she can’t get enough, can’t quit playing, can’t even pause to let Diana catch her breath.

Kara feels like she’s flying. And that just might be what she needs.  
.

.

.  
“Now I have a hypothetical question.”

“And that is—?” Kara waits, phone pressed against her cheek and shoulder as she loads her electric drum set into the van.

“What your favorite color is.”

“Hypothetically,” Kara says, “it would be yellow.”

“That’s so predictable.”

“You asked,” Kara scoffs good-naturedly. “What is this, 20 questions?”

“Maybe. I’m still waiting on my TMZ secret,” Lena says, an audible clink of a spoon against a cereal bowl sounding as she chews. “You’re driving out for that gig in Metropolis, aren’t you?”

“We’re about to get on the road,” Kara says. “But our sound guy is a total drama queen. I think he’s still styling his hair.”

“What typical celebrity problems,” Lena tsks. “Tell your famous friends hi for me.”

“I tell them you’re my therapist away from therapy,” Kara says. “My sister thinks I’m serious. I don’t think she believes me when I tell her I met you at Home Depot.”

“That will certainly be a story for the wedding vows,” Lena says. “Speaking of, we’re halfway there.”

“Are we?” Kara says, poking her head into James’s room to see if Winn has somehow gotten his ass in gear. “I didn’t know that.”

“You’ve gotten my exes talk, you know too much about my sex life, _and_ you’ve seen me cry. All that’s left is for you to see me naked and you’ll be up to speed with every ex I’ve ever had.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you naked,” Kara says, amusement morphing into alarm when she hears Lena cough. “Are you choking?”

She gets a strong, watery “ _No_ ,” in reply. “That’s—because my mother is calling. So. Call you later?”

“Okay, I’ll let you go,” Kara says, reluctant as she is to actually do so. “Hey. If I were to hypothetically ask if you would ever come to one of my shows, what would your completely hypothetical answer be?” 

“It would be ‘dream on,’ Kara Danvers.”

(After Kara hangs up, wandering out of James’s room and still beaming at her blank screen, she realizes she never stopped to check on Winn. Oh well.)

She finds Alex instead, who is watching her with a skeptical narrow of her eyes. “Is that your so-called therapist?” she says.

“It was Lena, my _friend_ ,” Kara stresses, tucking her cell phone into her back pocket as she wanders off in search of her guitar case. “You know, I don’t see what you have against me making friends.”

“I don’t care that she’s your friend. I care that she has a brother in prison.”

“You’re being all judge-y,” Kara says. “What would Maggie say? She’d tell you to give Lena a chance. Go on, give her a call so she can tell you that.”

“Shut up.” Alex rolls her eyes, which means Kara’s right. She helps Kara pack the last of the equipment into the van, but before Kara can go and situate herself in the back, she tugs at the back of her shirt. “Hey. How are you holding up, anyhow?”

“I’m fine. I had two cups of coffee,” Kara says.

“That’s not what I was asking about.” Alex’s expression gets pained, like it tends to do when Kara is about to leave. “I’m worried about you and this lawsuit.”

“Alex. I’m fine. I go to therapy, I exercise, I’m living out my normal routine. I haven’t touched...anything since that night and you know it,” Kara says. Just saying the word _drugs_ out loud would make her insides recoil and her skin itch; she’s talked about it, sure, but never quite as outright, and she doesn’t risk saying it now.

It makes Alex flinch, too. “I know,” she says hoarsely. “But dammit, Kara, I’m still worried about you.”

“You don’t have to be.” Kara fiddles with the edge of her shirt, unable to meet Alex’s eyes. “I just...I need time.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll be fine eventually,” Kara says. It’s not meant to be a question but it comes out like one, and it’s enough to make Alex swallow thickly and say,

“I can’t—I can’t help you if you shut me out. You know that you can tell me anything.”

“Of course I do,” Kara says. “But I just...I can’t. I try and try and I can’t. I swear I’m trying. It’s,” and here, she has to pause to take a sharp inhale of air before her lungs stop working, “it’s just not all my story to tell, either.”

“Because someone else was there,” Alex guesses.

“I can’t do this right now, Alex. Clark needs us to go pick up the rest of the instruments.” Kara finally locates her acoustic guitar, and takes great care to pack it into her case.

Alex snags Kara’s duffel bag as she follows her out. “Hey, I know you’re ready to take on the world, or whatever,” she says. “But it’s okay if you want to settle for taking a longer break, or more therapy, or anything smaller.”

“Thanks, mom,” Kara can’t help but quip. “Eliza already gave me this talk.”

“You have a thick head. Can’t blame me for trying to drill some sense into it,” Alex says. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say ‘Alex, I’m fine. Stop worrying so much’.”

“I was actually going to say 'stop worrying so much _dummy_ ,'” Kara corrects her. “You have your own problems to worry about. Focus on those for a little while, okay? If I need anything I’ll call you.”

“That sounds suspiciously rational,” Alex says, narrowing her eyes. “You’re lucky James is going with you or else I’d get in this van myself.”

“I _knew_ you got James to agree to drive me there! You want to get me a babysitter,” Kara huffs, slamming the back doors of the van shut. “I’m getting back into my groove! It’s a good thing.”

“I’m sure it is,” Alex says, but she’s looking at her sister with an odd little smile on her face. “You promise you’ll really call?”

“Promise,” Kara says, and they lock pinkies for good measure.

.

.

.

Sometimes when she’s on the road, Kara can’t sleep.

She takes the late driving shift those nights, accompanied only by Bruce’s snores and the soft rock music playing on the radio. Once in a while she calls Alex, if she doesn’t have any other obligations and is willing to entertain Kara for a couple hours.

Tonight she doesn’t think about what Alex is doing. She thinks about Lena instead, and how she doesn’t even know what she meant, that her name would bring up something bad if she were to google her. It nags at every corner of her mind, and she can’t help it; she calls.

“You’re aware that it’s midnight,” Lena says in lieu of a greeting.

“You’re aware that you answered,” Kara retorts, a light feeling in her chest making her suddenly more awake than ever at the sound of Lena’s voice.

“I missed your exciting celebrity lifestyle, I guess,” Lena yawns. “Since you woke me up it better be for something really cool.”

Kara watches the low, dark slopes of country hills loop by and says, “I don’t think I have anything exciting.”

“Nothing? I need some new material, here.” There is a rustle on Lena’s end, likely her bedsheets. “I suppose I can settle for knowing how you’re doing.”

“How generous of you.” Kara thinks it might be a world record, how quickly Lena can make her smile. “I do have a pretty invasive question for you that you don’t have to answer.”

“The last time I got that question my first girlfriend asked if my mother was single,” Lena says. “Please tell me you don’t want to date my mother.”

“...no, and I really hope you’re joking,” Kara says. When she gets a noncommittal hum in reply, she says, “ _Lena_.”

“Give me your question already, Kara. I’m not getting any younger.”

Kara hesitates. “What would happen,” she says, “if I googled your name?”

For a moment there is nothing but silence. Lena’s still there; Kara hears her sharp intake of breath, like maybe she’s taken aback, but she doesn’t speak. Not for a while.

Until, finally: “You would probably see variations of ‘Lex Luthor’s sister refuses to testify in his trial,’” Lena says, almost strained in the way she says it. “Maybe a mug shot or two.”

All sense of hope fades from Kara’s being. “Oh,” she says softly. “Lena, I’m—I’m so sorry.” She knows who Lex Luthor is, of course, and doesn’t dare ask any other questions. “You know, if you googled me you would know that I trashed a company executive’s office.”

Lena laughs, wetly, and it’s the most beautiful sound Kara has ever heard. “How did you manage that?”

“I had a titanium baseball bat,” Kara says. “And I was under a hell of a black market drug. It was the scariest experience of my life, I think—to be completely out of control, without a way to stop it.”

“ I still win for most twisted google search,” Lena murmurs, lowly, as if she’s drifting off to sleep. “But I—I know what that’s like, to feel like you’re completely out of control. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“This isn’t a competition,” Kara says, and she wishes she could be staring up at the stars right now instead of squinting out at the pitch black roads. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you and I are both a little fucked up,” Lena quips. “And now that I know your darkest advertised secret I can finally google you.”

Kara knows what being lonely feels like. She knows that better than most, really; even though she has her bandmates, and Alex, and Eliza, and Clark she has never been able to shake the feeling that she’s out of place.

But right here? Right now? She doesn’t feel like that. Not one bit.

“I told you to do it,” Kara reminds her. “What’s left that could be interesting about me to look up?”

“Your personal life, obviously. I need to see who you’re dating.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “No one,” Kara says. “Though the tabloids are convinced I’m dating Siobhan Smythe because I tweeted her yesterday.”

A few audible taps against the screen later, Lena says, “She’s cute. Do you want to date her?”

“No.” Kara grips the wheel a little tighter, not understanding how queasy the thought of talking about prospective dates with Lena makes her. “She’s not my type.”

“Well, Kara Danvers,” Lena says. “What does your Tinder say is your ideal woman?”

“I don’t have Tinder.” Kara doesn’t mean to, but she lets her mind wander; she’s barely driving the van at all, and they’re crawling forward at twenty miles per hour. “I haven’t been on a date in ages.”

“If you’re a celebrity, aren’t there supposed to be women waiting to throw themselves at you?” Lena demands.

“ _If_? I thought you googled me! You know I’m a celebrity,” Kara says.

“Prove it,” Lena says. “Tell me you’ve been on a date with Eva Longoria.”

“She’s a little old for me,” Kara says. “I’d much rather date someone around my age. Not someone necessarily famous, either. Just...someone who understands what it’s like to live.”

“That’s too vague to sell to the tabloids,” says Lena, meant to be mocking but delivered much softer than necessary. “You’re such a romantic.”

“And you aren’t?”

“I’m not a cynic,” Lena says. “But I don’t think love is easy, either.”

“It doesn’t have to be easy,” Kara says. “It just has to be real. I think....I think the best kind of love is when it’s a little messy. Like, rough around the edges, because as long as you have each other nothing else matters.”

“Are you sure you’re not an actress? That sounds like every Nicholas Spark movie adaption I’ve ever seen.” Lena sounds tentatively pensive, as if she’s biting her lip. “All those love songs you like make sense, at least.”

“The Jaws theme song makes sense now, too,” Kara is sure to assure her, and Lena laughs.

“Goodnight, Kara,” she says, ghost of her amusement lingering.

“Goodnight, Lena,” Kara replies, and she’s still smiling long after she hangs up.

.

.

.

The restaurant they’ve found themselves at is definitely not what Kara’s used to.

There is a string quartet playing not too far away, and waiters dressed in suits adorned with gold cufflinks. Kara is dressed in jeans and a ripped T-shirt, and she keeps tugging at her collar when it feels like it’s choking her.

Siobhan Smythe sits beside her in a simple dress, definitely nothing up to par with the rest of the guests here, but marginally better than Kara’s apparel. The only consolation is that she looks as uncomfortable as Kara does.

“This is kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?” Siobhan whispers into Kara’s ear, and Kara nods in agreement.

“I’m really sorry you were dragged along,” Kara whispers back. “I promise this isn’t really our scene.”

The blame falls on Clark, who’s trying to impress the journalist who has tagged along for their celebratory dinner; now it just feels like everyone else is intruding on their date. Diana doesn’t seem to mind—she’s too busy charming their waiter—and even Bruce seems relaxed about it, as long as they get wine. But Kara feels awkward about it, since she’s left to entertain Siobhan by herself.

“I don’t mind. This place isn’t my thing, but the company’s pretty nice.” Siobhan smiles at her and Kara thinks that it’s a nice smile, thin but genuine. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks that it doesn’t have the same character as Lena’s, and she blinks to drag herself back to the present. “Thank you, by the way, for opening for us,” Kara says. “I don’t know how Clark got you to agree, but it was amazing to see you in person. I’m a big fan of your music.”

“Likewise,” Siobhan says, the corner of her lips almost fixing itself coyly. “I’m surprised you’ve never contacted me yourself.”

“I, ah,” Kara almost reaches for her glasses, before she remembers that she hasn’t worn them in years. “I’m not really in charge of that.”

“It’s alright if you’re a little shy,” Siobhan says. Suddenly Kara is all too aware how _close_ she is, her bare arm pressed up against Kara’s. Her hair brushes against Kara’s cheek as she leans over and says, “It’s cute.”

Kara is pretty sure she stares. Unblinking, _flustered_ , and all too red in the face. “Um,” she says, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

She fumbles for her phone, shaking hands barely managing to call as she makes her way to the cool confines of the spacious restrooms.

“Hello?”

“Lena? Is this a bad time?”

“Not for me, but didn’t you say that you and your band were hanging out with that famous singer? What was her name....Sarah Smith,” Lena says, quality of her voice fuzzy from poor reception.

“No. Yeah. Siobhan Smythe,” Kara corrects her. “She...I don’t know. I don’t want to presume anything, but I think...I think she _likes_ me and I don’t know what to do.”

For a second she worries that she’s lost Lena to the reception, but then she hears, “Do you like her too?”

“Not like that,” Kara says faintly, resting her forehead against the stall door with a quiet exhale. “And I don’t want to _tell_ her that. But I don’t want to let her think that I could. Like her, I mean.”

“Are you panicking right now?”

“Uh. No?”

“Liar,” Lena scoffs. “Where are you, exactly?”

“...in the bathroom,” Kara admits with a petulant sigh. “Do you have any sage life advice for me this time?”

“Easy. Pretend you’re dating someone else,” Lena says. “You have to dress it up though. Tell her your secret lover is private about their life if the topic comes up, but _discreetly_. You have to work it in there somehow.”

“Do you use this tactic with all the women you sleep with?” Kara can’t resist the urge to tease.

She’s rewarded with an indignant huff. “I slept with _two_ women in the last three months, leave me alone,” Lena says. “And this tactic works wonders when your mother decides to send a blind date to your door, if you need a frame of reference.”

“I feel like your mother is unhealthily involved in your love life.”

“I tell myself the same thing daily,” Lena sighs. “So do you have to rejoin the party, or can you spare a minute?”

“I’m all yours for the next...fifteen minutes, at least,” Kara says. “I feel like anything longer might be suspicious.”

“You might be the only person I know who runs when they find out a pretty girl likes them.”

Kara shrugs, forgetting that Lena can’t see her. “Siobhan is very nice,” she says. “I just...feel like I should want something more than nice, don’t you think? She deserves someone to look at her and go speechless because she means that much. Not someone who thinks she’s not like…” _You_ , she almost says.

“That’s sort of...sweet,” Lena says slowly, which makes Kara’s near breach of good judgement all the more startling.

“You’re admitting that’s romantic. Is this you giving up on being a cynic?” Kara asks, delighted, as Lena snorts.

“No. It’s me thinking that you’re too happy-go-lucky to care about reality,” she says, even if there’s no bite to her words. “Are you incapable of not being nice?”

“I try to be a force for good,” Kara says. “You know, as a positive role model.”

“Next you’re going to tell me you’re a secret superhero with a heart of gold,” Lena scoffs. “Which I wouldn’t hesitate to believe, by the way.”

“You’d believe I was a superhero but you wouldn’t believe I was famous?”

“I told you: you were weird,” Lena emphasizes _weird_ with something like an accent. “Go back out there, superhero. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”

“Okay. I miss you,” Kara says without thinking.

“Yeah, I miss you too,” Lena says, after a beat. “Bye.”

“Bye.” Kara worries her bottom lip for a second, pensively taking in her black screen. She brings up her messages and tells Alex, _what do you think it means to be thinking about someone at really weird times?_

Alex replies after a minute. _I’m not sure what you mean._

 _like i can’t stop thinking about her_ , Kara sends next. _like i wish she were here instead of siobhan smythe._

She imagines Alex pinching her the bridge of her nose in exasperation, now, as she gets her next response: _i think that means you’re insane. siobhan smythe is out of this world_. Then, almost as if she’s reconsidering her answer, she adds on, _but good for you ??? i think_

Kara runs her hands through her hair and groans. _you’re no help_ , she types out. _tell me what you’re thinking._

 _idk kara_ , comes Alex’s careful text. _do you really want my opinion?_

 _if it’s good_ , Kara types out, but she deletes it. She tries a simple _yeah, always_ , but she’s not actually sure if she means it. She settles on, _please_?

Alex takes a few minutes. When her text finally comes through, it reads, _that sounds kinda gay._

_wow. thanks for absolutely nothing._

Kara waits, but it’s clear Alex doesn’t have the time to follow up on her response. So Kara leaves, and when she gets back to the table, she sees that their entrees have arrived; Clark and Lois Lane are also back, and they’re currently entertaining Siobhan in Kara’s absence.

“Kara, where have you been?” Diana calls when she spots her, loud enough that she hears her halfway across the room. “We missed you!”

“Just had to make an emergency call,” Kara says, which isn’t technically a lie. She reaches for her glass of wine, inadvertently brushing her fingers against Siobhan’s in the process. But without overthinking it this time, she draws her hand back and gives Siobhan a brief, apologetic smile.

(She doesn’t have to think about this, right? At least not tonight.)

.

.

.

“You’re telling me you’re a _drummer_.”

“You sound like you don’t believe me,” Kara says, too preoccupied with licking the cream cheese icing off her fingers to see what Lena is up to. She’d promised to help Kara bake, but she’s been scrutinizing everything in Kara’s apartment instead.

“I don’t. What kind of music does your band even play?” Lena’s voice sounds farther away this time, and then Kara hears the hi hat of her acoustic drum set rattle.

“Bruce thinks we’re a rock band, but I think we’re more like a...indie band. With some rock elements.” Kara abandons the icing to poke her head out of the kitchen; she finds Lena sitting at her acoustic set, studying the worn drumsticks balanced on the snare.

“I had you pegged for a singer,” Lena says thoughtfully. “What is your band called, again?”

“The Justice League. I told you that, like, twice.”

“And every time it just sounds _wrong_.” Lena picks up the drumsticks and taps them experimentally against the high tom, frowning at the light sound it makes. “Here’s the thing. If you’re a drummer in a band, why do people care so much about you? I thought people only cared about the singers.”

“It’s because I’m Clark’s cousin,” Kara says. “People love the drama of it.”

Lena sets the drumsticks back, turning around on the stool to raise a skeptical eyebrow in Kara’s direction. “Okay,” she says, like she’ll take Kara’s word for it. She goes over to Kara’s electric drum set next, but only allows a moment to stare at it before she walks away.

Kara wanders after her, slightly amused. “What are you doing, anyway? You said you’d help me bake.”

“It’s not baking if they’re store-bought cupcakes,” Lena says, pausing before the balcony door to peer out through the glass. “I’m trying to figure you out, Kara Danvers. For a humble celebrity you sure live lavishly.”

“Clark got me the place when I joined the band,” Kara says. She places her hands in her pockets, suddenly a bit shy. “It’s a bit much, huh?”

“It’s not bad.” Lena gazes outside, hands on her hips, but the skepticism of her expression has softened; she looks like she’s thinking, but of what Kara has no idea.

Kara finds that she can’t help but observe Lena like this. She doesn’t quite understand her yet, and how she can be so witty one moment and so sad the next; it’s like she is fighting herself at every turn, caught between curiosity and apprehension.

“Do you want to go out?” Kara offers. “You can sit on the balcony. It’s really pretty this time of day.”

“No, that’s okay.” Lena is currently worrying her bottom lip, but Kara doesn’t say anything about that.

“I’m going to finish icing,” Kara says, sensing that Lena needs some time to herself. “You can hang out on the couch until I’m done, if you want to watch TV or something. Or you can lay down in my room. I have a TV in there too.”

Lena smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “Sounds good,” she says. She opts for the couch, and when Kara reenters the kitchen she can hear Lena flipping through channels.

Kara texts Clark to see where they’re at, and is assured that they’re still keeping Diana busy. Kara turns on some music, light enough that it won’t disturb Lena, and finishes up her icing relatively quickly. Once she’s done here she can finally get around to decorating, which she figures she should’ve done first.

The TV playing from the living room is oddly soothing background noise. Kara sometimes wish she didn’t live alone, because she craves company more often than not. Alex stays some nights, but she’s always either out of the country or staying at Maggie’s instead.

She finds some streamers on the top shelf of her food pantry. She’s standing on a step-stool and debating calling James over just to exploit the fact that he’s tall when she hears Lena suddenly clear her throat.

“Oh, hey,” Kara says, looking down at her in surprise.

Lena awkwardly hovers by her side, and then—rather unexpectedly—says, “You’re sort of my only friend in National City.”

Kara slowly gets off the stool, not sure if she’s meant to reply or not.

She gets her answer when Lena continues. “It’s not just because of my name, or anything. Maybe it is. But I’m not really good at having friends either way. I just wanted you to know that.”

Before Kara can talk herself out of it she’s tugging at Lena’s sweater, and then hugging her—not too tightly to scare her away, but definitely firm enough that her cheek is pressed against Lena’s. She feels Lena stiffen for a moment, but then she all but sags against Kara; her head comes to rest against Kara’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a while, until a click of a key into a lock makes Lena jump. Kara’s more puzzled by the sound than she is startled, until she remembers the _party_.

“We’re not done!” Kara shouts, but the door opens all the same.

“What aren’t you done with?” comes a confused voice that makes Kara light up.

“Alex! You’re back!” Unthinkingly, Kara grabs Lena’s hand and drags her out of the kitchen to greet her sister. “You’re just in time to help us decorate.”

“Us?” Alex echoes. Her eyes drop to their joined hands, but she doesn’t say anything about it. “Oh, that’s right, it’s Diana’s birthday party today.” Usually she’s tired after a long flight home, but today she’s animated enough to roll her eyes. “Just when I thought I’d get some peace and quiet. I’m gonna go shower—feel free to start without me.”

Lena not-so-subtly elbows Kara, hard enough that it makes her yelp. “Celebrities,” she tsks. “Always forgetting their manners.” She holds out her hand, a polite smile in place. “I’m Lena, by the way.”

“Alex. I’m Kara’s sister.” Alex indulges Lena’s handshake, though she sends her a strange look for the formality. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Lena says. “Excuse me for a moment, I need to make a call.”

She ducks into the kitchen in awkward silence, and Alex levels Kara with a different strange look. “So Lena’s the girl,” she says. “Right?”

Kara frowns. “What do you mean ‘the girl’?”

“The girl you were all messed up over when you should’ve been getting me Siobhan Smythe’s autograph,” Alex says like it’s obvious. “Come on, help me bring my stuff in.”

“I wasn’t...I wouldn’t say I was all messed up,” Kara argues faintly as she follows Alex into the bedroom. “I just missed her. Like, a friend.”

“A friend. Okay, sure.” Alex unzips her suitcase with a flourish that clearly means she thinks otherwise; she even lobs a T-shirt at Kara’s head as she begins to unpack. “She does seem _pre_ tty out of your league.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Get on my side here!” Kara sputters, and another shirt bounces off her temple.

“Clearly you ignore all my advice, so I don’t see what _you_ mean,” Alex says innocently. When Kara stares at her blankly, she sighs; abandoning her effort to find clothes to shower, she grips her sister’s shoulders. “Kara. You’re crushing. It’s better to embrace the fact now. But a straight girl like that? Bad news.”

“Lena’s not straight,” Kara grumbles, indignantly shoving Alex away. “And I’m not going to ruin our friendship by embracing anything, alright? She’s just my friend.”

“Yeah, doubtful she’d go for you anyway. Is she single? Asking for a friend.”

“Go shower,” Kara gripes, storming out of the room in a much-needed huff. “Lena!” she calls, loud enough so she’s sure Alex can hear. “My sister wants to proposition you!”

“ _Hey_!” Alex shouts back. “ _I have a girlfriend_!”

Lena is sitting on the couch again, and she laughs into her hand as Kara plops down next to her. “Your sister seems nice,” she says, resting her hand on Kara’s knee.

The touch throws her. Kara freezes, and all she thinks to say is, “She has a girlfriend.”

“I heard.” Lena’s smile is easily becoming one of her favorite sights, and the way it borders a laugh even more so. “Thank you for inviting me over. I like this.”

“Thank you for coming,” Kara says, bumping her shoulder against Lena’s gently. “I like...having you here.” This comes out slightly rushed, because she isn’t sure how Lena will react now that she admits it.

But Lena just keeps smiling at her. “And if your sister’s ever single, I know where to come.”

“...I take it back, you need to leave immediately.”

.

.

.

“So Jimmy tells me you’re coming clean.”

Kara hadn’t heard Clark come in, but she acknowledges him with a small nod as she continues tuning her guitar. “Rhea still wants to sue,” she says. “Go figure.”

Her cousin gingerly takes a seat on the floor beside her, dusting off his jeans carefully. “You don’t have to, you know,” he says. “We can settle it. She can’t be suing for that much.”

“The press will catch wind of whatever we do anyway,” Kara says, plucking the strings experimentally and avoiding meeting Clark’s eyes. “I really don’t mind. You’d better have a replacement on call, in case people start rallying for me to quit again.”

“We’re not going to replace you, Kara. You’re the best we’ve got.” Clark is never quite as open around her like he is with everyone else, but today he seems to be on a roll: “You’re so much stronger than anyone else I know. I have your back no matter what, though.”

“Thanks,” Kara says, feeling her eyes water with embarrassed—but grateful—tears. “Kal.”

He smiles broadly at the use of his birth name. “Scoot over,” he says. “Show me what you’re working on.”

“I’m not a seasoned guitar player,” Kara reminds him. “How about you show me how it’s done, instead.” She hands him her guitar and he takes it, looking at her with wide, bewildered eyes—but she just waits, patiently, to assure him it’s okay.

Her guitar is the last thing she has of her parents, and Clark knows it; he treats it like glass, playing a sweet melody that probably (definitely) comes from a country song. Kara can’t find it in herself to complain.

This is how Alex finds them, and she stops halfway through a complaint about the lack of fruit in Kara’s apartment when she sees what they’re up to. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know Clark was still here,” she says.

“Hey, Alex,” Clark says, crooked smile easily overtaking his lips. “I was just about to head out, actually. Kara’s probably got a lot to talk to you about.”

“You don’t have to go so soon,” Alex says, but Clark’s already handing the guitar back and getting up off the floor.

“Nah, I really should. I left Diana at Target. If I wait any longer to pick her up she’ll start hanging out in the baby section again.”

“See you later?” Kara makes sure to ask as he’s heading towards the door.

Clark pauses at the doorway to warmly reply, “Yeah. Bye, Kara.”

“Bye, Kal.”

Alex whistles, lowly, once they hear the front door shut. “That was unexpected,” she says. Kara makes a small noise in agreement, rearranging her guitar so it’s comfortably positioned. She’s so caught up in doing so that she almost misses Alex taking Clark’s spot, until Alex speaks again. “So what’s all this you have to talk to me about?”

“Nothing that big.” Kara shrugs. “Well, it’s sort of big. I’m—coming clean about the night I trashed Rhea’s office.”

Alex doesn’t say a word. She just listens.

Kara sucks a shaky breath in through her teeth. “It was kind of an accident,” she says. “Well. Not the drug part. They called it something stupid, some color K. Mike Matthews was there and he was trying it too and I guess—I guess I wanted to feel something.”

She can’t put it into words, how she felt that night; the most she can do is liken it to drowning and _knowing_ she was sinking to the point of no return, but being unable to do anything about it. She felt like a shit person, a shit drummer, a shit sister—and worst of all, the only person she could turn to was Mike Matthews.

Mike Matthews, the son of a woman who hated her family’s guts.

Mike Matthews, the kind of musician that was only in it for the fame.

Mike Matthews, the guy she’d accidentally kissed that night.

“Kara.”

Kara shakes her head. “I need to tell you,” she says. “That night I—I think I was feeling so angry I had to do something about it. And Mike suggested we trash his mom’s office because he hated her too, and I didn’t even deny it, Alex, I don’t...I don’t even know what I was doing. So we did it. He got us in and I found a bat somewhere and…”

“It’s okay, Kara,” Alex says, and there’s understanding in her words.

“He begged me to keep quiet once the drug wore off, you know, and—the paparazzi never got any pictures of him. Just of me, because I left,” Kara says. Because he’d kissed her, and she’d kissed him back for a second, before she’d taken off running. But she can’t admit that even to Alex. “Are you mad?”

“What, that you lied? Hell no.” Alex sounds like she’s struggling not to cry; her laughter is barely even passable. “You’re too fucking nice to let someone like Mike Matthews fall from grace. How am I supposed to be mad about that?”

“Mike and his mother don’t really get along,” Kara mumbles, resting her head against the wall as she stares up at the ceiling. “It would’ve destroyed their relationship. I couldn’t do that to him.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Alex snorts, resting her head against Kara’s shoulder. “My sister, the hero of mommy issues.” But she sounds like she’s proud, too, and Kara relishes in knowing that.

“I feel guilty about it,” Kara has to admit, eventually. “I never would’ve done this if I weren’t out of my right mind, but Alex...I _wanted_ to. Like, I dreamt about giving Rhea a piece of my mind so many times. And all it took was one night to cave.”

“I can’t blame you for that,” Alex says. “I dream about trashing her office myself.”

Kara laughs. “No you don’t.”

“Yeah I do. You don’t know what I dream about.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a minute, until Kara is compelled to bemoan,

“I just wish I could just do nice things for people and not be sued for them. It’s really inconvenient.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Alex says, flicking Kara’s forehead with her thumb and her forefinger. “You’re a regular Atlas. I can’t believe I’m going to suffer through a flight with class tickets just for you.”

“So you’re coming to our gig in Orlando?” Kara asks hopefully.

“Are you kidding? You won’t be able to get rid of me so easy,” Alex says, slinging an arm around Kara’s shoulders and squeezing tight. “I’d be willing to fly class to every stop on a world tour of yours if I could.”

“I’m not letting you take that back. It’s been seared in my memory, so it’s now an iron-clad agreement.”

“Yeah, well.” Alex pinches her shoulder, smiling at her sister a little sadly. “I can imagine worse things.”

It strikes Kara that she hasn’t really thought about it, but she’s doing okay now. She’s not sinking. While she’s not flying—not like she’d been that one jam session, after she’d won over Cat Grant—she’s at least firmly on stable ground.

“Hey,” she tells Alex, “want to order Chinese?”

Alex pretends to think about it. “Fine,” she says. “But you’re buying.”

(Yeah. This is okay.)

.

.

.

_...We get a moment with Justice League’s own drummer, who looks just as excited about the idea of a tour out of the country. Kara Danvers has been in and out of the band lately, and definitely in and out of the public eye. I ask what her if she’s in it for the long haul with these guys, and she laughs._

_“Definitely,” she says. “They’re my family.”_

Kara wishes she’d brought her sport earbuds, the ones that don’t fall out. The only pair she has are Apple ones, and they’re useless; her run’s tampered down to a light jog.

But she can’t sacrifice her music. Alex calls her basic for it, but she needs music like an IV line. There is just something exponentially soothing about wild guitar riffs and heavy drum solos that get her body moving, like they’re the charge to her otherwise barely sentient body.

_I ask what her next move is, since she’s come out with the truth of her last run-in with public disapproval. Last time she had been urged to quit by people who thought she was too immature, but will she let the naysayers sway her decision to stay?_

_“No, I’m sticking around,” Kara says. “I think we need to have a conversation about everything that’s happened, and I’ll definitely get that interview out as soon as possible. But right now I just want to keep making music with these guys, if that’s okay.”_

She’s lost count of how many laps this makes, but there’s sweat dripping down her cheek and soaking the back of her T-shirt once she slows to a stop.

Her legs burn pleasantly, and she stretches to relieve some of the ache. One of her earbud cords are wound around her ear in a way that will probably ruin them, but they’re less susceptible to slipping this way.

“Are you done yet?” Lena calls from a bench a few yards away, cupping her hands around her mouth to make sure she’s heard. “I’m getting tired just watching you!”

Kara jogs the few feet to reach her, a breathless laugh escaping her as she arrives. “You can always join me,” she suggests. “You’re the one who agreed to come to my work out session.”

“I thought that meant I could sit in a gym and watch ripped women lift weights, not sit out here in the sun,” Lena says, shielding her eyes with her hand. “I found a great brunch place and you’re _still_ making me suffer.”

“You’re definitely the high maintenance one in this relationship,” Kara says. “I can’t believe I’m going to marry you someday.”

“Don’t say that so loud, someone’s going to hear you and you’ll have a whole new scandal to take care of.” Lena’s face looks slightly pink, but Kara doesn’t know if it’s because she’s blushing or because her skin is just that sensitive to sunlight.

“I doubt anyone would care who I’m hypothetically marrying,” Kara says, wiping off the sweat on her brow as she stoops over to pick up her things. “Are you okay if we walk to brunch?”

“You’re a masochist,” Lena groans, but she leads the way; she even carries Kara’s sweater, though she drapes it over her bare shoulders because she claims she’s protecting herself from burning.

Kara always like this easy back-and-forth of theirs, but she can’t shake what Alex said about a crush. It’s not that she _wouldn't_ crush on Lena. She’s an amazing person, and she cheers Kara up without trying; just being her friend makes Kara feel like she can take on the world. And she’s obviously devastatingly pretty, which is like saying water is wet.

But Kara doesn’t know if she can see herself dating Lena. It would be complicated, to subject her to all the public scrutiny and possibility of never having a moment of peace again. And all this brings to question whether or not Lena and her past with her brother would cause issues for the band, or Kara’s image. _Kara_ couldn’t care less about that, but she imagines her agent might. Lena might, too.

She sneaks a glance at Lena as they’re slowing before a crosswalk. She looks happy, wearing Kara’s sweater like a cape as her ponytail swishes behind her. Her lipstick is a very dark red, darker than Kara’s sweater is, and Kara feels compelled to linger there.

Lena catches her staring. “What,” she says, lightly pushing Kara’s shoulder. “Is there something on my face?”

“No. I just, um, like your lipstick,” Kara blurts out. “It’s nice.”

“I can’t remember the color, but it’s a cheap drugstore brand,” Lena chuckles. “You wouldn’t want it.”

“I don’t wear lipstick,” says Kara sheepishly. “It’s just...nice. On you.”

“Thanks, I think,” Lena says, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. “What’s up with you today? You’re so quiet.”

“I don’t know.” The light for the crosswalk flashes white, and Kara grasps onto the distraction like a lifeline. “I guess I’m thinking.”

“About…”

“Everything,” Kara says. “The band, the lawsuit, my future. The usual.”

“Your normal is so weird,” Lena says. She has a way of walking that’s slightly off-balance, as if she _has_ to gravitate to her left with every step forward. As a result, her arm brushes against Kara’s. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” At least Kara’s certain about that. Well. Partly certain. “But let’s say I had a question.”

“Like a hypothetical question.”

“Exactly.” Kara toys with the metal clip of her water bottle, just to give her hands something to do. “What do you think about the possibility of dating? Just in general. I’ve been thinking I should try again.”

“I’m not really an expert in dating,” Lena says. “Hypothetically, when would you say was the last time you went on a date?”

“My last real date was maybe...three years ago,” Kara says. “I mean, I did go on a date with Diana like a year ago, but that was before I joined the band. And Clark was the one who set it up. It was kind of awkward all around.”

“That’s too bad. She seems nice,” Lena says. It sounds like there’s a _but_ missing from the sentence, but it never comes. “That long, though? Really?”

“Dating’s hard when you’re famous,” Kara says, then pauses. “Is it conceited to call myself famous?”

“Absolutely, Kara Danvers.” For some reason, Lena’s teasing comes out weaker than usual. “What’s bringing this on, anyway? Have you met someone?”

“Sort of.” Kara swallows hard, and steadily doesn’t make eye contact. “I’ve known her for a while, but I’m just not sure how she feels about me.”

“I’m sure she’s crazy about you,” Lena says. “And if she’s not then it’s her loss.”

Kara shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says, again. “It’s complicated.” A much-needed change in subject comes when they arrive at their destination, and Kara seizes the time to say, “This is the place, right?”

“Uh-huh. It’s right up your alley,” Lena says.

“And that means…”

“They serve potstickers.”

“Seriously?” Kara brightens. “I love it already.”

“I thought you would.” Lena slips Kara’s sweater off, and ties it around her waist instead. “Do you have your lame disguise?”

Kara wordlessly puts on her sunglasses, aiming for a very Bond 007 pose as she does so. To her delight, it works to make Lena laugh.

“God, you’re such a _dork_ ,” Lena says.

(But then again, she’s still laughing as she tugs Kara inside.)

.

.

.

The interview comes out, and it draws mixed reviews.

James thinks his photography is the best it’s ever been, and frames it immediately. Eliza calls the minute she’s read it, worriedly asking if Kara wouldn’t like to come home for a few months. Alex texts her within the hour _not_ to go on twitter. It even reaches Lena, who screenshots the parts where Kara is talking about Mike Matthews to ask if he’s supposed to be a relevant celebrity.

But for better or worse, Kara decides she likes it. It captures her truth and that’s all she can ask from it.

She does take Alex’s advice, and keeps away from social media. Away from everyone, actually; she holes herself up in her penthouse for the day, and plays along to a few of her favorite songs just to keep her mind busy.

Clark calls her once, to see if she’d be up for some company. She tells him that she’s okay, but promises to be in bright and early tomorrow morning for a jam session. Kara texts him a flurry of heart emojis afterwards, and he sends her a thumbs-up emoji in reply, which means he’s either finally taking Lois’s advice and becoming more tech-savvy or that was an accident. Either way, she’ll take it.

Being alone with her thoughts isn’t that suffocating today. She watches soap operas with her drumsticks in hand, absentmindedly drumming along on the couch cushions to the dramatic music on screen when she feels like it.

(And she does a lot of soul searching, which she always figured was some sort of myth.)

She finds that she doesn’t care about Mike Matthews—no surprise there, actually—and that even though he’s going to tell the world about their kiss, she won’t dwell on the past. In fact, she’s resolving to look back on the rocky past as just that: the past. It won’t concern her as long as she doesn’t let it.

Then she steels herself and finally allows herself to admit that she’s sort of head over heels for Lena Luthor. Again, no surprise there. But Kara pretends that it’s a relief to think it anyway.

She almost calls Lena three times in an hour. Then she paces around her living room, running through a list in her head weighing the pros and cons of telling Lena about her feelings. Once she’s determined that is a terrible idea, she takes her guitar and tries to play something slow to calm down.

It doesn’t work, because she starts thinking about Lena and how she’d played for her so many times—and how easily she can imagine what Lena would say about her now.

 _“You’re being ridiculous, Kara Danvers,” she’d tease_ , and Kara misses her fiercely. There has to be some irony in missing someone who isn’t even there, but things just don’t ever seem to add up around Lena. Up is down and wrong is right and it causes Kara so much grief she thinks that torture would feel better; at the very least, it would be more concrete to attribute the weird flutter of her stomach and the dizzying spell in her head to something like that.

Kara can’t handle one more second of this. She snatches up her phone and a portable speaker and then she’s taking a taxi to Home Depot, because she wants to take a chance. A chance she’ll likely regret, if this goes sideways, but a chance nonetheless.

She plays a good montage song, to try and keep her amped up. The opening guitar riff of Barracuda by Heart always reels her in, but what really hits her are the drums; she’s unable to keep from tapping along on her knees for the entire drive.

She overpays the taxi when she gets there, feeling like she might puke. But in a good way.

(Too late—she’s talking as soon as her feet hit the pavement too late—she remembers she doesn’t have a song to play a la Say Anything. Somehow, she doubts the Jaws theme song will work out that well. )

So maybe trying to make a grand gesture doesn’t work so well. She clutches the portable speaker in one hand and, flustered, accidentally walks in through the exit instead of the entrance. Lena is nowhere to be found at the registers, and she breaks into an awkward jog through the aisles, fully aware that she probably looks weird while doing so.

It would be tacky to call out Lena’s name. Right? That would be a tacky move?

“ _Kara_?”

Kara nearly crashes into the paint cans in her haste to whirl around, slightly relieved she doesn’t have to try. “Lena!”

Lena is slowly approaching her with a quizzical furrowed brow and a question on her lips, but it doesn’t matter; everything melts away when Kara sees her, and she just _knows_.

“My manager was going to call security on you. What are you doing, running like—wait. Do you wear glasses?”

Kara pushes the frames up her nose, barely realizing she hadn’t even stopped to put on her contacts before she left the house. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah.”

“Let me guess, you somehow think _this_ is a disguise,” Lena says, the confusion of her expression morphing into light mirth.

“It’s not about disguises. It’s not about—anything that has to do with hiding, or, or pretending.” Kara thinks that doesn’t come out quite right, but she powers through. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.” Some of that confusion creeps back into Lena’s voice, but she remains otherwise cautiously expectant.

Kara has to wipe her suddenly sweaty palms against her jeans, confidence rushing out of her like a battery being drained. “I,” she starts, “I—I really wanted to play the Jaws theme song.”

Lena only nods, deathly serious. “Of course.”

“No, wait, you don’t understand. I meant I wanted to do this properly, or romantically, or—” Kara gulps. “So I can tell you you’re the girl. My, um, dream...not-Tinder woman. Wait. That doesn’t sound right. I mean you’re the girl who’s _not_ Siobhan Smythe, and I don’t want you to not be her. You’re you!”

“Kara. English, please.”

“And I’m supposed to be a romantic,” Kara sighs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “I like you so much. That’s—yeah. That’s it. I wish I could give you a really nice speech but this was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, and now I’m thinking I should have waited, or…”

“Kara.” Lena’s hands come up to stop Kara from fiddling with her glasses again, her touch so light it’s barely there. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack,” Kara tells her grimly. “I might be having one of those, too.”

Lena laughs. A disbelieving, incredulous, _beautiful_ laugh. “You _idiot_ ,” she murmurs, curling her hands against Kara’s ratty sweatshirt until she stumbles forward. She’s wearing heels again, but short ones, so Kara is still a bit taller than her. “Do you really like me?”

“I like you so much I don’t know what to do with myself,” Kara says, eyes darting across Lena’s face in the hopes of gauging her reaction; she’s smiling softly, crinkles by her mouth becoming more and more pronounced with each passing second, and there is a dimple forming in her cheek Kara really wants to trace with her fingertips. “Hypothetically, what would you say about that?”

“Hypothetically?” Lena bites her bottom lip, smudging today’s lipstick—it’s a light purple. “I’d say I really like you too.”

“So hypothetically,” Kara says, reeling from this reveal in the most heart-racing way possible, “you’d be okay if I were to ask you out on a date.”

“I would definitely be okay with that,” Lena says, her hands smoothing over Kara’s shoulders almost questioningly. “Hypothetically, I’d say yes.”

Kara’s hands find purchase on the low of Lena’s back, crinkling against the garish orange apron that’s part of her uniform. “You know, dating a celebrity would be pretty hard,” she says carefully. “It would be okay if you didn’t want to deal with it.”

“I think I can handle it,” Lena says. “I mean, you’re just a drummer. You can’t be that famous.”

“Oh, well, in _that_ case…” Kara can’t help but kiss her, cutting off a laugh in the process. It smells like chemicals and fresh paint around them, and Lena bumps her forehead a little too hard when she tries to kiss back, and her lipstick ends up getting smudges on Kara’s nose; in other words, it’s absolutely perfect.

Even when Lena pulls away, she remains tucked close against Kara, breathing raggedly against her lips as she rests her hands against the back of Kara’s neck. “Kara?” she asks softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m still kind of on shift. For, like, an hour.”

“Right. Uh. That was poor timing on my part.” They don’t actually move to part, and Kara is selfishly happy about it. “But security can wait a little longer, can’t they?”

“Maybe.” Lena kisses her again, slower this time, and Kara feels like she’s buzzing. This must be what it feels like to enjoy kissing someone, to finally get that love of her own that’s messy around the edges, to understand the way it feels like every cell of her body is vibrating—

(Actually. That part might be her phone.)

“That’s probably Alex,” Kara groans, resting her forehead against Lena’s.

“Mm, feel free to tell her I’m off the market. Unless she’s single and I can pick her instead. Do I get that option?”

“That’s...so rude. I can’t believe I like you.” Kara knows she’s smiling too much to sound cross, and Lena laughs along with her. “Alright, I guess I do have to go. But I’m coming here to pick you up after your shift, and we’re going to go on a proper date.”

“You know where to find me,” Lena says. “I’ll be the girl working the defective cash register.”

“And I’ll be the girl wearing sunglasses,” Kara says, still very much beaming from ear to ear. “Probably holding a guitar, so I can serenade you properly.”

Lena rolls her eyes, but kisses Kara one last time anyway. “I’ll allow your weird romantic gestures,” she says, feigning quiet exasperation that her smiling eyes give away. “Even if you’re not a hot soccer player.”

“Seriously. _Rude_.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me over on [tumblr](http://pippytmi.tumblr.com/)...i do write stuff on there that i don't post here, for obvious reasons. thanks so much if you read this far - especially for indulging my ridiculous AUs ❤️❤️❤️


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